


The Abduction of Loss

by rothalion



Category: Army Of Two (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:11:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rothalion/pseuds/rothalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyson's daughter Nala concocts a scheme to kidnap Salem and drag him home for thr Rios annual Memorial Day BBQ, which he has stubbornly refused to attend for years. This is in my Breath of Evil universe and has plot points where info from that story might prove helpful but it can stand alone.<br/>The South American op and the Kosovo op are not mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Abduction of Loss

**_ The Abduction of Loss _ **

 

 

 

 

            Tyson Rios held his thick right arm across his eyes blocking the red beam shining from the small flash light held firmly between his nine year old daughter's teeth. She held her left index finger to her lips, and pointed at her still sleeping mother. Tyson frowned, grasped her thin hips, and as he sat up hefted her off his huge chest, and slipped from the big bed. The pair padded silently from the bedroom, and Tyson tramped along behind the girl until they reached the door of his office. Before he could tell her he didn’t have his key she turned the knob, and pushed through the heavy Cherry door. Tyson sighed; he still hadn't figured out how the girl defeated his security system, and reminded himself to once again try to ring an answer out of her uncle, who was more than likely to blame.

            Once inside she stowed the flashlight, and slipped the black Balaclava up from her face, expertly rolling it into a watch cap.

            “How’d you get into my office, Nala?"

            “Need to know only.”

            "Why're you in your mission gear?

            "We're on a mission, daddy."

            "That so?"

            "Yup. I made black coffee, and laid out your kit. The other gear is loaded. We just need to move out before mom wakes up."

            Rios took the proffered cup of coffee, sipped it and grimaced.

            "Your damned uncle teach you to make it like this? Tastes like what Tyannikov brews, Christ."

            Nala smiled at remark, and tossed her father's black tee shirt toward him. Vasily Tyannikov was one of her father's least favorite people, and he'd have a fit if he knew that he was exactly who'd taught her.

            "Uncle Elliot's friend, Kostay did. Hurry now gear up." She snapped tickled by the secret knowledge that Kostay was in fact Tyannikov.

       Fifteen minutes later, at 0315, the pair was in the truck, and heading away from the house.

       "Ok, what's the mission?"

       "It's Memorial Day."

       Tyson made a go ahead continue motion with his right hand."

     "Uncle Elliot never comes for Memorial Day BBQ. This year we're gonna get him, and make him."

       Tyson studied the girl in the flickering street lights. He could see that there was little chance of changing her mind so he resigned himself to playing along.

     "Ok, Nala, but I need different coffee. How about we hit Dunkin Donuts?"

     "Super. I need to stop there anyway. That was your next mission objective."

            Tyson again frowned at the girl, wondering exactly how far ahead she had planned their little ‘mission’.

            Once there Nala hopped from the truck, and skipped into the store.

            “I’m here, Cappy. You got ‘em all ready?”

            “Right here Mini-Merc. One dozen red, white and blue, sugar glazed Memorial Day, strawberry jelly donuts.”

            Nala hopped onto a stool and peered into the open box.

            “Perfect, just what I imagined. Dad needs a coffee though. Mine’s too strong for him.”

            Tyson grumbled tiredly at her comment, and felt his skin prickle at the site of the dreadfully sweet looking donuts. The mere thought of Nala and Elliot downing a box of the sugary treats terrified him. The pair would by spinning out of control for the entire day on their sugar highs.

            “Comin’ right up darlin’.”

            New coffee and the special donuts in hand the duo resumed the hour long ride to Elliot's beach side apartment.

           "Daddy, how come Uncle Elliot doesn't celebrate, today?"

             "He thinks we should be more solemn more..."

           "More sad?"

            Tyson sipped his coffee, and thought about it. Nala sipped hers, and waited patiently.

           "Yea, something like that."

            "Is it 'cause you guys have lost bunches a buddies?"

            "Not so many, no."

           "How many?"

             "Several."

           "Several's not a number, daddy."

              Tyson sighed. Nala and Elliot were alike in that once they latched onto a problem they'd worry it to death.

           "We've been lucky, Peach. Only two that were really close. Salem, well him, he lost his whole squad in Sarajevo, and you know I don't have details so don't ask. Besides they weren't tight like us guys all are."

            “Oh. It was seven in Sarajevo, right?”

            “Yea. Eight man squad, only Elliot made it out.”

            “And the two, the kinda close ones?”

            Rios sipped his coffee, and pondered her question. Those two had hurt. Those two were not only close friends, but they had died during an op for SSC. He wasn’t sure just how much to divulge to his daughter. She was smart, overly mature for her nine years, and well aware of what he and Elliot did for a living. But telling her about those two particular losses scared him. It scared him because he and Elliot were the ones who’d pulled the trigger.

            “It was back in ’96 down in Paraguay. We were barely three years into working at SSC. Mission was to take out a drug guy. Anyway, we get to the compound, and it’s got a lame perimeter fence guarded by two equally lame sentries walking it side by side like Siamese twins. Salem’s glassing them with his Galil sniper rifle, and I’m eying the rest of the area. He says ‘They’re Black Mountain.’ The same mercs we tangled with in…”

            “Kosovo, I remember the story.”

            “Yea, Kosovo. Bad bunch, those guys. Old buddy a mine runs the operation. They do only black stuff. So we decide to take down the sentries. Salem caps ‘em both with…”

            “Stop let me guess; one clean head shot. Am I right daddy?”

            “Right.” He replied furrowing his brow at the smiling girl. “Who told you about Kosovo anyway?”

            “Heard Uncle Elliot and Kostay talking about it. Stay focused, Paraguay, ‘96.”

            “Right, so we get to the fence, Salem cuts a hole, and we start to cache the bodies. He gets all weird on me. He says that they look American. I told him, so what. He still seemed freaked a bit. So I tell him the one guy is Kevin Remington, and that we went through basic together, right up through Ranger school. So now he’s just looking up at me dumbfounded, and kinda scared maybe. I’d never seen him look like that. I tell him to get moving, get the damn bodies stashed, and hurry it up. When he’s done he comes back, and starts up again with what’s an ex-Ranger doing working for a drug lord questions. I tell him getting paid just like me and him.”

            “So Uncle Elliot killed your friend?”

            “Guess if he was working for the bad guys he wasn’t any friend of mine anymore.”

            “I still think Uncle Elliot probably felt bad, daddy.”

            “No room for feelings in this business, Peach.”

            “And the other guy?”

            “Same op. We finally corner the objective in a small foyer, and when we breach the door his last personal body guard is covering him. Salem pulls up short, and I slam into him from behind. He hollers out a name…”

            “It’s D-Men isn’t it?”

            “Yea. And do I want to know how you know about D-Men dyin’?”

            “I saw him on your old coffee mug. Uncle Elliot said he got killed in South America.”

           “Well your stupid uncle’s all caught up in old times, and not seeing the current situation. D-Men tries to get us to switch sides, offers up a ton a money, and Salem’s just eating it up. Finally I see Mendelssohn’s finger move to his trigger. I shove Salem out of the room hard, toss a frag in, and slam the door back shut. It goes off, and I look over at him, and he’s in shock. In shock from hitting the wall when I threw him clear, in shock from the detonation, and as I study him I see he’s in shock ‘cause I just wasted D-men. He saved D-Men’s life and D-Men his back in Mog. He’s just staring at me completely lost. I need to…”

            “Get him back on task, and focused; I know, daddy, I know.”

            “Right. I tell him, ‘Salem you played poker with him, you watched his face, I watched his hands and his weapon; finger on a trigger never lies.’ He seemed to settle a bit, but then he turns a bit crazy. He wants the objective. He’s blaming him for D-Men’s death, and he goes chasing him blind. Anyway he got hit pretty hard, but in the end we made it out. I don’t think he ever really forgave me for either death. I think I scared him.”

            “Why?”

            “I think,” Rios paused, and rolled the words he was going to speak around in his mind for a moment. “Peach, he had to see a side of me I never wanted him to see. Salem’s all about loyalty. I am too. Difference is, or was, I think he’s matured a bit, he couldn’t let go of a friend when it needed to be done. A man changes sides, and he becomes your enemy. That’s it, cut and dry. Back then I don’t think he really understood that. I think it scared him because he projects stuff, Salem does. He plans ahead for stuff that’s all just a jumble of scary thoughts in his head. The planning is good when the stuff is real. It keeps us alive. But when it’s all just anxious worry, then it’s not so good. So I knew that he was thinking, ‘That’ll be me one day. I’ll piss Tyse off, and he’ll cap my skinny ass. He’ll just cut me out of his life.’ And that scares him to death, Nala. Back then I think he blamed me. Once, when he was drunk and upset, he even tried to say that I blasted D-Men for him shooting Remington.”

            “No! He didn’t mean that. You’d never do something like that.”

            “Yea, well that’s Salem for you.”

            “Yes, my Dragon One is a handful. So that’s nine. Ok well it’s time to finalize our gear.”

            Rios snuck a look at his daughter as she dug around in the pack between her feet. First she took out her Air Soft H & K MK23 pistol, inserted a clip, and deftly chambered a round before slipping it into the holster on her right thigh. Then she dug around again, retrieving her father’s Air Soft, Remington 870 MCS in breaching configuration. Again she loaded the weapon, prepared it for use, and set it aside. Finally she found, and readied Tyson’s Air Soft Desert Eagle. This she handed to him, grip first, carefully keeping the hand gun discretely below the level of the dash board, before zipping the bag shut and sitting back.

            “Check it, Daddy. Never trust somebody else with your weapons.”

            Tyson did, and then shoved it into the holster on his right thigh.

            “What’s our mileage say?”

            “56783, why?”

            “Two more miles. Ok, when we get there, we go up, and make entry. He should be asleep. You watch the door. I’ll get him secured and moving.”

            “Secured?”

            “Bagged and plasti-cuffed. If he’s not asleep, well that’s why I need you, Daddy. You’ll just have to choke him out. It can’t be helped. This is a situation where we can’t be his friends until we get him home, ok?”

            “Nala, I know you mean well. I am worried though, that if he wakes up, and sees a masked person in the house he might pull out the Makarov, and blast you sweet heart.”

            “He can’t. I have all his bullets. Took them the day before yesterday, and filled his clip with blanks when we went by to drop off his new contract.”

            “You broke into his gun safe?”

            “I acquired them, daddy. We’re here. Kill the lights, and park close to the elevator, and back in. Not too close to the other car either. It will make it easier to slide him in the truck if we have to choke him out.”

            Tyson parked the truck, and shut it down. He left the keys in the ignition, and pulled his Balaclava over his face as Nala did the same. She leaned forward, shrugged the pack onto her tiny shoulders, and checked her watch.

            “Let’s move out; quick but casual, right?”

            “Copy that.”

            Two minutes later they were outside of Salem’s fifth floor apartment. Nala, not one to miss an opportunity to practice her ‘special skills’, slipped her lock picks from the bag, and went to work. In 45 seconds she had the lock, and dead bolt picked, and the door pushed open as far the chain allowed it to go.

            “Little fucker put a chain on his door! When’d he do that?”

            “Shh, Papa Tank. Two weeks ago. Here boost me up.”

            Rios hoisted her up, and after waiting, and listening inside the room she made quick work of the chain with her medium sized bolt cutters. He lowered her, and she stowed the gear.

            “Follow me.”

            Rios squatted down, and duck walked into Salem’s foyer with his hand on Nala’s left shoulder. When she reached the corner she paused, and studied the living area. She was relieved to see that Salem had chosen to sleep in the bedroom. She stood up, and crossed to the kitchen which was out of sight from the slightly ajar bedroom door. Rios followed noting, even in the dim light, that Salem had cleaned the normally ransacked apartment up.

            While Nala retrieved her gear Rios moved toward the bedroom. The girl wouldn’t like it, but he wanted to make sure her uncle was alone in bed. The last thing they needed was to try and kidnap him on the one night he’d drug home some barfly. He peered into the space, and saw that it too had been cleaned. Salem had even folded, and stacked his clean clothes neatly in two well-worn blue plastic hampers, where they awaited stowing in his perpetually empty dresser. He backed away from the room, and met Nala in the living area.

            “Just stay icy, if I whistle be ready to forget you love him, and choke his little bitch ass out. Kay Papa Tank?”

            Despite himself Rios shuddered. How had his dear, sweet daughter become the efficient little operative he was dealing with that morning?

            “Copy that.” He muttered resolutely. Salem would kill him if he had to choke him out.

            He slipped into a shadow, and watched her go into the room.

            Once in the room Nala assessed the situation. Salem was asleep on his left side just as she’d predicted. He rarely slept on the right, because it aggravated his shoulder, and he never slept on his back, because that aggravated his sinuses. Occasionally, when completely drunk, he’d fall asleep flat on his stomach, but Nala figured he wouldn’t, because he’d told her his plan was to clean house and sleep.

            She removed the safety on her HK, and padded toward the bed. He was all the way under the covers so it would take him a few seconds to untangle his right arm, meaning that even if he had the Makarov she still held the advantage. Also Salem’s right shoulder became very stiff if he slept more than four or five hours; so once he cleared the covers he’d be slow moving. She reached the edge of the big, king sized bed, and very gently climbed onto it. She clenched her little flashlight between her teeth, and pressed the HK into the base of his neck.

            “Roll over slow, and keep your hands under the covers, Dragon One!”

            Salem started to roll quickly to his right, startled by the odd command. Years of sleeping in hazardous situations had honed his ability to become immediately fully alert. Nala jabbed at him with the gun, and he slowed his turn. He blinked into the red beam of light, and studied the Balaclava clad figure kneeling over him. Nala aimed the gun at his forehead, and slid slightly back.

            “Now listen closely Dragon One, and this will go over very smoothly. Roll onto your belly, and put your arms behind your back.”

            “And-A-Half when I get…”

            “Do it.”

            “That thing can do damage at close range.” He whined.

            “You have a hard head. Daddy says so; now over you go, and no funny stuff.” She ordered nudging his forehead with the weapon.

            Salem complied, and as she started to pull back his covers he stopped her.

            “Yea, daddy said so hunh. He in on this, the sorry, fat fucker? And hey, Little Miss Merc; I’m only in my boxers.”

            “Quiet! Nope, had to kidnap him too. Seen ‘em before, your boxers, and if you resist you won’t have ’em long. Naked’s good for controlling a hostage. You said so.”

            Nala slipped a Balaclava over his head backwards so that he couldn’t see, then once the covers were drawn down she quickly plasti-cuffed his hands behind his bare back. Then, finally with several cuffs, linked like a chain allowing him to shuffle, the small operator cuffed his feet.

            “Ok, roll out of the bed.”

            Salem rolled over, sat up clumsily, and then stood. She grasped his elbow, and began leading him toward the living area; the barrel of her HK pressed into his spine.

            “Papa Tank, go get him some clothes, and load them in the bag. Then his wallet, keys and phone. Make it quick. Mission clock’s ticking, and the guy in 3F gets home in nine and a half mikes. I don’t want to meet him in the parking garage.”

            For a moment Rios stood frozen stunned at the scene before him. His nine year old daughter had his partner and best friend bagged, and cuffed for transport. Of course Salem probably would have fought against an actual aggressor, but he had to admit, Nala had captured the younger man fair and square.

            “Move, Papa Tank!”

            It took slightly longer for the trio to get back down to the garage with Salem only able to shuffle. Once there they made straight for the truck. The group was nearly home free when the lights of an incoming vehicle swept across the damp, sea salt, scented space. Nala looked at her watch; it was too soon for 3F so this was an un-anticipated tango. She hurried Salem along as Rios looked back over his shoulder at the car. It slipped into a spot, and the driver jumped out and started hollering.

            “Hey, you there! What’s this? Hey you, stop you bloody blokes!”

            “Shit.” Nala spat. “Papa Tank neutralize him.”

            “Roger that.” Rios replied as if neutralizing innocent by standers during a fake kidnapping was the most normal thing in the world.

            “Roger that!” Salem squawked as Nala pressed into him, and forced him along. “And-A-Half, he’s my neighbor!”

            “Nosey Brit. Should a kept his mouth shut; now shut yours or I’ll gag you. Move out.”

            At the truck she yanked open the back driver’s side door, and shoved Salem into it. He turned around, sat on the floor board, hopped up slightly, and scooted back. Then he pressed himself upwards onto the seat. Nala slammed the door, rounded the big vehicle, clambered into the passenger side, and leaning over started the engine just as Rios got back. He tossed the Remington onto her lap, and hopped in. Nala immediately unloaded it, and stowed it back in the duffle bag. She did the same with Tyson’s and her own hand guns, and as Rios pulled up onto the highway she crawled over the seat and into the back.

            “Back on the floor.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Do it. I need in the weapons locker. If that guy wakes up, and calls the cops we could get stopped.”

            “Fuck me twice.” Salem snapped sliding back down onto the truck’s floor.

            “And watch your language; I’m just a little girl.”

            Nala opened the secret compartment, and studied the space. It was empty, but if she stowed the gear bag in it Salem wouldn’t fit.

            “Papa Tank, question.”

            “Shoot.”

            “Since we were compromised, now if we get stopped we should have time for Salem…”

            “Salem! Now I’m Salem to you?”

            “Quiet! For Salem to get his skinny ass into the gun locker. I was gonna stow the gear but if I stow the gear he won’t fit. I’m thinking we just keep the gear out and the locker open with him sitting in it. The gear we can just say we have because we’re going to an Air Soft tournament. That was my out for the guns and clothes anyway in case we got stopped. I just thought it would all fit. I can just slam it shut, and lock it if we need to. Even if they search us they’ll never find it.”

            “Sounds good. That guy’s gonna be out for another eight mikes at best. He was drunk as fuck. I choked him out, and just left him like he’d passed out behind the wheel. I turned the car back on to make it look even worse. He’d be a fool to call anyone. Make it so.”

            “Get in.”

            “Oh you two are so in such deep shit!” Salem screeched as Nala prodded him in his ribs to get him moving. Finally after a bit of a struggle he was lying on his left side in the secret space        beneath the rear bench seat.

            “I won’t shut it unless I need to, Dragon One. I know that you don’t like little, dark spaces.”

            With that she slid back into the front seat and put on her seat belt. “Daddy you need to go straight out 55. That will cover my cover story if we get compromised.

************

            Back in the parking garage of Salem’s building 3F startled awake. He sat bolt upright, and looked around bleary eyed and confused. His car was running, the windows were down, and he felt as if he’d imbibed far more than he had. He coughed, and rubbed at his lightly stubbled face. 3F knew that he was drunk, but he also knew that he’d turned off his car. To compound his confusion the windows were down, and 3F had never, in the three years that he’d owned the sky blue Peugeot, ever rolled them down. It was simply too hot and humid in Florida and the last thing he needed was for all of that salt air and sand to infiltrate his priceless little vehicle.

            As he reached to roll up his windows he suddenly recalled the last sight he’d seen. A man dressed only in boxers being kidnapped. He panicked and hurried the windows along. He needed to call the police. 3F didn’t participate in the apartment community’s social scene so he had no idea who the man was. He was only renting the low class apartment until the renovation of his fancy, fifteenth floor condominium across the street was completed. Still he wasn’t about to let some poor fool be spirited away.

            He took the keys from the ignition, and stashed them in his briefcase. 3F wasn’t sure if you could get a drunk driving ticket if you weren’t actually driving, but it wouldn’t due to press his luck. Obviously if he didn’t have the keys in hand he couldn’t have been driving. Then, he walked away toward where he’d seen the big black ford that had been the destination of the strange trio. He dialed 911, and waited. By his calculation, and 3F, an accountant, was good at calculating, he’d been unconscious for nearly eighteen minutes. The report was completed, and he sat down on the dividing wall of the garage, and waited still trying to sort out what he had witnessed.

            The police arrived in short order and began to question him.

            “What did you see?”

            “I pulled into my spot, there,” he pointed toward the Peugeot, “As I got out I saw three people headed over toward that spot.” He pointed to where Rios’ truck had been parked. “The one in front had his hands tied, and his feet tied; he was shuffling, and was wearing only his boxers, they were gray. The one behind him was short,” he held his right hand out about forty inches above the ground, “Like about here, and had a gun; a hand gun jammed in the poor blokes back. The third one was huge.” 3F paused, and looked around at the officers, “Bigger than that guy over there. Just huge, and he had a long sort of a gun. Not a rifle, but in between. He saw me, and I heard the little one snap an order. Didn’t quite catch it, but the big one broke away, and well now we’re here. Woke up passed out in my car. The engine was running, and the windows were down. You have to go after them. It was one of those damned huge trucks you greedy Americans insist on cluttering up the road with. Ford, black, big, with the extra door in back. By my reckoning I was out for nearly eighteen minutes.”

            The officer studied him, and frowned. The man had obviously been drinking, and could very well be delusional.

            “Brewer check out his vehicle, don’t muck it up. CSI might need to process it. So you are telling me you saw some half naked guy getting kidnaped by a giant and a midget, right?”

            “Well…yes.”

            “Did you do any drugs this evening, sir?”

            “No! For Christ’s sake I am not the criminal here, go after the bloody lunatics.”

            “Car’s still warm. Where were you drinking?” Brewer cut in.          

            “Giselle’s, they know me there, call them. I closed the place, then went to the Olde Ox Ale Pub for breakfast. They have traditional Bangers and Mash. They know me too.”

            “Do it Brewer. You get a tag number, anything?”

            “No, like I said, the last thing I recall is the big one heading my way, then waking up in my car with the engine running, and the windows down. I have never rolled the windows down in that car; too much salt and sand in this retched place.”

            “Descriptions, the victim first. He live here?”

            “No clue. I don’t know anyone here. Five foot nine, maybe 185 pounds. He had a bag on his head. He might have tattoos. I thought I caught a glimpse as they passed under that light there. Colorful, but of what I don’t know, all over his arms. The little one, all dressed in black, black mask, thin. The big one same thing all in black, black mask. What can I say?”

            Brewer returned, and handed the lead investigator a sheet of paper. “Story checks out. Giselle’s is closed, but the manager was still doing paper work. Our Brit here left at closing. Ale Pub the same thing. He came in pretty drunk, ate, and left about 0415; puts him here right about how he tells it. No security cams in the building. We’re canvasing now for missing tenants fitting the description. Might take a while though. Five floors with twelve units per floor.”

            “Alright, well step it up, get some more bodies in here if you need to, and get me the property manager.”

            “Problem there as well. The units are condos. So there are multiple managers, and some are even managed by the owners; many of whom are snowbirds living out of state.”

            “Ok, Brewer, do your best. Eventually someone’s gonna show up missing.”

            “Show up missing? Isn’t that an oxymoron of sorts, officer?”

            The officer looked at 3F and frowned. “Yea, but if this is some kinda moronic joke, or drunken delusion, you my English friend, are going to be the one that shows up missing, and subsequently found incarcerated. Brewer, get the crime scene weenies on that spot, and his car pronto, and keep me in the loop. Also launch an APB for full size extended and crew cab black or dark blue Fords. Remember Brewer keep me posted.”

************

           

 

            “Do I need to come back there and gag you, Salem?” Nala threatened when after nearly thirty miles Salem had still not shut up.

            “And-A-Half, if you call me Salem one more time I’ll…”

            “You’ll what. Do you want me to Tase you?”

            “You wouldn’t dare!”

            “Oh wouldn’t I. A hard head makes for a soft ass, Salem, and Tasing would fix that.”

            “A hard head makes for a what? What does that even mean?”

            “Don’t know, but I hear Giddy tell you that whenever you’re bad; so it must be pertinent. Mileage Papa Tank?”

            “Pertinent?”

            “Mileage pap Tank.”

            “56818.”

            “Halfway there.”

            “Oh shit! We’ve got incoming on our six. He blew by, then whipped a uyee, and hit his lights. Batten the hatches, And-A-Half.”

            Nala squeezed into the back seat and poked Salem.

            “Not one single sound, Salem. Be quiet or else; zst, zst.”

            Then she slammed the seat down, and slid back into the front. Rios pressed a button on the radio, and the secreted latch clicked home sealing Salem into the hidden weapons locker. All the poor beleaguered man could do was rue the day that Secour and Pedro had suggested adding the hidden lockers into their trucks. They were undetectable, and allowed the guys to carry their weapons in complete safety. Especially Salem’s Barrett. The weapon cost nearly fourteen thousand dollars, and all cost aside, he was simply too emotionally attached to the big rifle to risk losing it. With that incentive, he too had agreed to have his truck fitted with one of the lockers as well. Now he lay curled up in the dark space cursing the cubby holes’ designers.

            Rios clicked on his right turn signal, and pulled the big truck off of the road. Nala already had the paper work out, and handed it to Tyson. He rolled down his window, and watched the officer in his rear view mirror. He was talking on his radio but not getting out.

            “Not a good sign. Looks like he’s calling for back up.”

            “It’ll be ok. We have an out. Oh, the tournament’s invitation only daddy so remember that. It’s in a secret location for security.”

            “Secret ok.”

            Now Rios was frightened. Nala was far too detailed in her planning and that worried him.

            “You figure this all out on your own?”

            “Mostly. Don’t ask who helped, that’s strictly…”

            “Need to know right. Here comes his B. U. get ready.”

            When the officer approached the truck Rios noted that he had his weapon drawn. His gut hitched. He damn sure did not want to be an irony, and visualized the head line in his imagination. _‘Man and daughter killed over fake kidnaping; decomposed body found in secret compartment under rear seat six months later.’_ He forced down the thought reminding himself that projecting crazy outcomes was Salem’s domain.

            “Step from the vehicle sir, and keep your hands where we can see them.”

            “Yes sir. My daughter as well?”

            “Yes sir, her too.”

            They both slid from the truck, and were marched at gun point to the first officer’s cruiser while the reinforcements kept them covered.

            “What seems to be the problem?”      

            “Identification.”

            Rios handed it over, and while he waited he listened to the radio chatter.

            “Yea, all in black a big one and his kid. Roger that.”

            “Mind if we search the truck?”

            “Have at. Duffle bag has Air Soft weapons in it. Unloaded, and with barrel locks. Like I asked, what’s up?”

            “APB out for trucks like yours. Potential kidnaping. What’s with the black?”

            “Oh, me and my dad are off to a Air Soft tournament. I love them; they’re great fun. Have you ever played? Nothing like taking down tangos, and capturing their flag! Dad and me and my uncle are a really great team. This won’t take long will it? I don’t want to be late.”

            The officer studied the innocently smiling child. He wasn’t sure if teaching your kid to ‘take down tangos’ was such a marvelous parenting plan.

            “No, I haven’t. I pray that I won’t ever have to take down anyone. Where’s this contest being held? Have a contact number. I need to check out your story. This is serious stuff this kidnaping.”

            “Yup, ready. I need to reach into my right cargo pocket though. I’ll go slow with only two fingers.”

            Rios’ mind was now reeling. Nala had a number for her imaginary Air Soft tourney. He decided right then and there that if he ever found out who had helped her plan this whole mess he’d kill them. He watched her slowly remove a slip of paper from her pocket, and with a beguiling smile, that was too reminiscent of Salem’s, she handed it to the trooper. He studied the number, took out his cell phone, and as Rios watched he dialed it. Tyson could only wonder who was going to answer.

            “This is Trooper Wry, who am I speaking with? I see, and you are the event organizer for an Air Soft contest being played this weekend? I see. Yes, yes invitation only, in a secret location to keep out un-invited hostiles; certainly, I can understand how un-invited hostiles could be detrimental to fair play. Yes sir. Well, I have here a Tyson Rios and his…I see, a couple of your finest operators, right, she’s a hell of a shot, a true operator, I see. Well no, no accident, just a little situation with an APB for trucks like his. Yes they should make it on schedule as long as the truck is clean. Well thanks for your time sir, have a great contest.”

            “Tournament, it’s a tournament not a contest, Trooper Wry.” Nala corrected retrieving the slip of paper from his out stretched hand.

            “I see. How we coming with the truck, Bassett?”     

            Nala giggled, and Rios shushed her with his elbow. “Bassett daddy, like a Bassett hound. Wonder if he’s using his nose?”

            “You better fuckin’ hope they don’t bring a dog, And-A-Half. Don’t push our luck.”

            “Still’s funny, Bassett. I’m picturing him with long ears. You know that song the ice cream truck plays daddy? ‘Do you ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie ‘em in a knot? Can you tie ‘em in a…”

            “Stop it!”

            “Your truck’s clean. Just pretty weird. Too weird. Guy gets snatched not far from here in a truck just like this, by a big dude, and a small one all in black…I’m still tempted to run you in.”

            “Oh, you can’t. I have tangos to kill. Trooper Wry, please!”

            “You have an alibi for the time between 0430 and say 0445?”

            “Dunkin Donuts. 411-111-0000. I order out all the time. Cappy ‘ll tell you. He made me special Memorial Day donuts. Oh no, you cops won’t take ‘em will you? I know the stories about you guys and donuts, and they’re special for my uncle! Daddy don’t let them touch my donuts!”

            “Why’s she doing all the talking?”

            Rios shrugged. “She’s a nine year old girl. You can’t shut her up. Conversely, stick her in a sniper hide with her crazy uncle, and the two of them are quiet as church mice for hours, no days on end. Outside a that it’s chatter, chatter, chatter for the two a them. It _will_ drive you crazy.” Then he patted her on her rolled Balaclava, and smiled at Trooper Wry. “No honey; these are honest gentlemen, and they’d never think of taking your uncle’s special donuts.”

            Again the pair watched Wry make his phone call, and once again their alibi rang true.

            “This uncle, can I talk to him?”

            “Nope, he’s out at the tourney site setting up our sniper hide. Can we go now?”

            “Why west? Why if you’re already west of the donut shop are you backtracking?”

            “We like 334 to head south better, but hell we…”

            “Hell, young lady?”

           “Sorry Trooper Wry just getting my mind right for battle. Anyway we have to kick south on 333 from 53, and back track a bit on 55 to hit it. So here we are where you stopped us; westbound on 55 eight miles from heading south on334.”

            Wry was flummoxed by the girl. His common sense was screaming at him that these two were complicit in the crime, but there was no real evidence to hold them. Everything they’d told him added up. No one could possibly have figured out the angles with such perfect attention to detail. Just as he was considering calling for a K-9 unit Nala piped up once again.

            “If I miss out on the long range sniper event I’m gonna be really perturbed Trooper Wry. Maybe your little angel of a kid plays ballet or something, but I’ve trained hard for this, and I don’t want that to go to waste. What’ll it take to get us on the road; my uncle’s waiting he’s my spotter! It will really hurt, but Trooper Wry I’m offering up my donuts.” She finished off with a pout.

            “Nala, that’s bribery, and I’m sure Trooper Wry is above that.”

            “I’m just saying. This is starting to border on unlawful imprisonment. Mommy taught me about that. Grampa too. He’s a detective you know, Trooper Wry. Dade county. Maybe you know him. Detective Art Norris…”

            “Artie, sure, a good man Norris. Will he vouch for you?”

            “Yup.”

            “Nala it’s early he’s…” Rios began but Wry simply held up his phone and hit a number.

            “Detective Norris it’s Red Wry,

            “Red Wry, like red ri-ding hood, get it daddy?”

            “Shut up, And-A-Half.”

            Wry glared at the smirking child, and returned to his phone call. “Yes, early, I know sir, sorry sir. I have a Tyson Rios, and his kid out here on 55.We have an open APB for a truck and occupants fitting their description for a kidnaping, yes sir, no sir, I didn’t figure them for the type, it’s just coincidental I’m sure, but you understand I needed to clear them. Sure, of course they’re harmless. The uncle, who’s not an uncle, he’s the problem, the real trouble maker. He’s nothing but a, what did you call him sir? Oh, I copy; a skinny assed little bitch, I see sir. No sir it’s just the two of them; no uncle. If I see him arrest him for whatever I can come up with, of course sir. Needs to be kidnaped. Well I don’t know about that sir, I don’t know him. Right sir, yea she’s a real fire cracker, I will sir straight away and thanks.”

            “Well Trooper Red Wry can we please be on our way?” Nala snapped.

            “Yes, here are your documents, and have a lovely time killing tangos. Drive safely.”

            Tyson breathed a sigh of relief that the trooper didn’t choose to follow them. He wanted to get Salem out of the gun locker as quickly as possible. Ten miles from the traffic stop, and after he’d turned back toward the north on county road 15 he told Nala to let him out.

            “Roger that, but should I have the Taser ready?”

            “Nala you are categorically not going to Tase Elliot.”

            “Darn.” She pouted before climbing into the rear seat again.

            “Hit the button, Papa Tank.”

            Rios did, and the latch clicked. Nala lifted up on the heavy seat, and Salem popped up like a jack in the box.

            “I am so going to kill you both slowly. I am going to pull out all of your finger nails. I am going to go to that sorry, sick, psycho murderous, vile monster Clyde, and ask him for lessons first. I am…”

            “Tase him, And-A –Half.”

            “Copy that, Papa Tank.”

            “Don’t you fucking even think about it; you monstrous little, devil’s spawn of a child!”

            Nala giggled as she dragged the little pocket Taser from her left cargo pocket. “I like it when you get all mad Dragon One. You’re very loquacious when you’re all garrulous.”

            “I’m very what, when I’m who? Where to you learn that gibberish girl?”

            “Private school. Are you ready? I’m aiming for you right thigh, on three now. One, two…”

            “Fine! I will shut up. Just get me outta here.”

            “Say please.”

            “Please.”

            “Papa Tank?”

            “You’re the op commander. It’s your call.”

            Nala sighed, put the Taser back in her pocket, then reached down, and tugged on Salem’s right upper arm. He flinched at her touch, and for a moment she felt a touch of guilt at treating him so poorly.

            “Come on out, easy, there you go on the floor now so I can shut the seat. Ok, now sit back down. Mileage Daddy?”

            “56838.”

            “Hmmm, well I wasn’t gonna untie him until 56848, but since we had our little traffic stop I’ll do it sooner.”

            That said, Nala slipped her six inch, Randall Fighting knife from its sheath along her right lower leg, and started slicing through the plastic ties binding Salem’s limbs. When she was done the knife was stowed away, and she slid back into the front seat.

            “Take the hood off, Dragon One, and get dressed. I’ll toss your clothes over the seat.”

            Salem grabbed the black duffle as it hit his lap, and dug through it in silence. Finally, he found a pair of faded Levis, a red tee shirt, socks and his bright white, high top Converse All Stars. He donned the attire, and leaned forward to slip his belt into the loops. Then he slapped his ball cap onto his head over his mussed hair, and crammed his wallet and keys into the appropriate pockets.”

            “Where’s my phone?”

            “Not yet. Maybe later. Can’t have you calling for rescue, now can we.”

            “Rescue from what exactly?”

            Nala popped up in between the front seats with the box of special donuts in her hands. She flipped open the lid with a flourish, and smiled broadly.

            “From the Memorial Day BBQ, silly. Here have one. Strawberry preserves, and lots a sugar icing just the way you love them!”

            The trio rode the rest of the way in a stony silence. Salem munched reluctantly on the donuts, and Nala beamed at the fact he liked them. Tyson drove while sneaking looks at Salem in the rear seat. He seemed angry and anxious, but the big man couldn’t believe that he would stay upset with Nala for very long.

            They pulled into Rios’ driveway at 0800. Salem needed a bathroom break and hot coffee so Rios had detoured slightly into the small town of Garnetville costing them about a half an hour’s time. They piled out of the truck, and trundled up the sidewalk toting the gear. Salem was in between Nala and Rios as if the little girl was still afraid he try and bolt. Giddy, Rios’ parents and an upset Samantha met them at the door. The look on Elliot’s face spoke volumes. The man was pissed off, and in no mood for Samantha’s non-sense.

            “Do not say a single word Samantha, not one word!” he snapped at the stunned woman. Despite their constant feuding Elliot seldom gave the woman the benefit of addressing her disdain for him, and the curt admonishment caught her off guard, and effectively shut her up.

            Giddy noticed the gear and the father and daughter’s attire, and jumped into the awkward greeting.

            “Off on a wee little mission, were we, blokes?” He quipped, ironically enough, in a poor British accent, eliciting a giggle from Nala.

            “Two Brits in a day. The real one sounded much more authentic though, Giddy.”

            “Nala.” Rios warned.

            “Yup, had to rescue Uncle Elliot from being alone again for Memorial Day. Let’s get this gear stowed, Papa Tank, move out. I need a nice dunk in the pool.”

            The duo pushed through the crowd with Samantha in tow still demanding to know where they’d been, and why her father had called to ask what they’d been doing, clear out on 55, at 0530 in the morning dressed like mercenaries. Rios slammed his office door in her face, and leaned back against it. The whole morning was going to give him nothing but marital grief for days to come.

            Back in the main house Salem slogged into the kitchen with his box of donuts. He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, and plopped down on a stool at the breakfast bar. Giddy, his wife and Tyson’s parents came in, and stared at the obviously upset young man.

            “Spill it Fifty.” Giddy ordered reaching for a donut only to have his right hand slapped away.

            “Mine.” Salem snapped. “Those sorry fucks,” He looked up at Tyson’s mom, Mimi, and blanched a bit. “Sorry Ms. Mimi. Those sorry...” he looked at her again, “Fucks. No way around it ma’am. That little heathen, that pint sized rogue of a heartless, soulless mercenary, that And-A-Half, that little too big for her Barbie britches little fuck kidnaped me at gun point.” He shaped his right thumb and index finger into an ‘L’ , and pointed at his forehead. “Held the loaded HK, that I bought for her little conniving ass, to my head and kidnaped me.”

            “Oh sweet heart that’s just awful.” Mimi said moving to his side and rubbing his slumped shoulders. “Just awful.”

            “And damned dangerous!” Rios’ father chimed in incredulously.

            “I know! She plasti-cuffed me, hand and foot, bagged my ass, and marched me half naked to the fat fucker, her old man’s, truck. They locked me in the gun safe for miles after we got stopped by the cops!”

            Giddy was bursting trying not to laugh, and his wife smacked him hard to try and get him to be serious.

            “Fifty it’s an Air Soft gun come on.”

            “Fuck you it could a killed me! And she giggled about Tasing me!”

            Rios’ father stepped to Mimi’s side and studied the upset man. “I’m sure she meant well, son.”

            “Meant well. I hate today. I have a mind to just up and haul the fuck outta here. I don’t need this have a memory bull shit!”

            He stood, and started for the door only to have Rios block his way at the door frame. The larger man’s bulk cut off Salem’s escape, and the smaller man took an angry step back.

            “On me Salem, now!”

            Salem groaned, and traipsed dejectedly along behind Rios through the house, and out to the smokers.

            “What?”

            “Get some wood Salem; we need to get the fires going.”

            Again, despite his anger, Salem followed the order. He crossed the patio, chose six appropriately sized logs, three oak and three apple, and some fire knot, then returned to Rios who was scratching old carbon from the grill grate with a wire brush.

            “Expecting about thirty people so I’m doing an eight pound Pork Tender Loin rubbed with cracked black pepper, sage, mint, and infused with the super skinny garlic slices like you do. Also on the menu are two racks a ribs, one beef and one pork and a eleven pound Brisket. The ladies are spicing those, but your signature BBQ sauce is getting used. We always do. It’s our way of including you. We’ll need both grills. Set that wood in this one ok, and I’ll get to cleaning the other one. Same amount of wood should get us going for that one as well. Nice, that looks good Ellie, do this one the same way, and if you think it will taste good you can even put more apple than oak for the Brisket.”

            Can we put a little of my Clove wood in with the Loin and the Brisket Tyse?”

            “Make it so.”

            The two worked at the smokers for nearly an hour before stepping back to study their work. Giddy and Heckler, who typically worked the smokers with Rios on Memorial Day, knew enough to steer clear of the team. This Memorial Day BBQ was ringing in a new tradition at the Rios residence. The patio door slammed open, and Nala sprinted, now clad in a camouflage patterned, one piece bathing suit, over to the two men. She had a snorkel and goggles dancing beneath her chin, and two bottles of Abita Strawberry Lager Spring in her hands.

            “Here you fine gents go. Abita Strawberry Lager Spring. It’s special for you Dragon One. It’s from Louisiana, and made from fresh Strawberries. Enjoy. Just remember it’s still early, so _sip_. I’ll let you recover a bit more from your little ordeal before making you come swim with me. Love you, And-A-Half out.”

            Moments later Giddy and Heckler’s kids joined her. Mimi dove in as well, and the day’s festivities seemed to be underway.

            Rios turned to Salem, and lightly punched him on the chin.

            “Hey, cheer up, it ain’t all that bad, Kermit. You’re my favorite grill partner, Elliot, and I miss the hell outta you every Memorial Day.”

            “You could a just asked, Tyse.”

            “Fuck you. We have, she has year after year, Elliot. I respect that you don’t talk shop. I respect that you don’t like to think about the sad stuff and the bad stuff, but we earned this day Salem. We did, and all of the men who have suffered with us trying to do the right thing for the less fortunate, and the weak, have. It’s not a day for just mourning losses, Ellie; it’s a day for embracing life. Ours and all the ones we’ve suffered to save.

            “You helped her plan it.”

            “No, no idea who she had in her court, but there had to have been someone. I knew nothing about it until she dragged me out of bed this morning.”

            “I can’t believe she was giggling about Tasing me, Tyse. That’s just cold, bro. How’d she get that way?”

            “Don’t know, Elliot. I guess, like they say, the apples just don’t fall far from the tree. I can be a mean, callous son of a bitch when I need to. It’s a blessing and a curse in our line of work, but I am sorry that’s just the reality of it. And if I’ve ever hurt you because of it lets bury that fucking hatchet right here and now for good. I’m sorry Ellie. I’m sorry about Remington and I’m sorry about D-Men. Today’s a fresh start. Here’s to many more Memorial days Elliot, cheers.”

            They clinked bottles, and wandered back toward the pool to sit and watch the kids frolic in the warm blue water.

            The remainder of the day passed without problems, and Salem relaxed. Samantha finally let the issue of the morning drop, and Art for all of his bluster kept his mouth shut about anything he may have heard on the dispatch channels. Rios figured that detective, having lost friends to duty military or otherwise, had enough common courtesy to just enjoy the day, and save any questions until later. Finally, about 2200 hours, Nala cornered Salem, and tugged on his arm. He followed her away from the noisy pool area, and out into the vast back yard toward the lake at Rios’ property’s border. She dipped down beneath some low hanging Willows, and picked her way along a narrow animal track.

            “Snatching me again, And-A-Half?”

            “Kinda, but no Tasing, ok.”

            “Thank fuck for that.” He slurred. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d had a fair share of his special beer.

            The path opened up onto the lake, and Salem stopped short. There, set up on the bank, were two lawn chairs, a small cooler and on a table several white tissue paper lanterns.

            “What’s all a this?”

            “The solemn part.” She whispered grabbing his rough right hand in hers, and walking the last twenty feet to the little camp. “Tried to make ‘em myself, but I needed help.”

            The sun was just about to drop below the tree line, and the sky was shot through with brilliant pinks and reds. The breeze was light, and they could smell the scent of the smokers, and the night Blooming Jasmine that had just begun to flower for the evening.

            “We light them, and send them away. Seven for Sarajevo and two for Paraguay.” She instructed. “Like this, watch.”           

            Nala lifted the first lantern and carefully, with a BBQ grill lighter, ignited the small square of waxed paper in the center of the lantern. She handed it to Salem, and pointed toward the lake.

            “Go ahead Dragon One, it’s time to say good-bye.”

            Salem hesitated, his throat was tight, and beads of sweat tickled his forehead, and skittered down his spine. Time to say good-bye. He couldn’t; that would be an act of dis-loyalty. He had to hold the lost ones forever in his heart or risk damning himself for his weakness. The pain of losing them kept them alive, kept them in his heart, kept them in his grasp. Saying good-bye meant acknowledging that he’d lost them, and he couldn’t bear the pain of losing them. The weight of the pain of that loss would crush him. He held the feather light lantern in his trembling hands and stared at it.

            “Hurry before the fuel square burns up. It’s ok; here we’ll do it together until it gets easier. One my mark, a three count; 3-2-1 release.”

            Together they pushed the glowing tissue lantern out toward the fire hued, mirror shiny lake, and watched it slowly gain altitude, and drift on the light humid breeze.

            “Again now, it’s nice if they all go away together just like they lived.”

            The pair lit the remaining eight lanterns, and watched them float languidly above the gentle roll of the lake water. Nala then reached beneath the table, and drew out two more lanterns, but these were pink.

            “Who’re they for?”

            Nala handed the first one to Elliot, and smiled a sad smile up at him.

            “I think we both know, Uncle Elliot, and your secret is safe with me. Light them now, and we’ll say good-bye together.”

            As they released the two pink lanterns Salem let his tears finally flow. He sat down hard on the lake bank. Nala wrapped her tiny arms around his neck from behind and above his shaking shoulders, and whispered in his right ear.         

            “I know you loved them. I know you miss them. I know you feel like you deserted them. If I could have any daddy in the whole wide world besides mine it would be you, because you’d be you are a great daddy. You were a great daddy to her. You’re a great daddy to me.”

            “How’d you know?”

            Nala chuckled, and kissed his cheek. “Dragon One, you told me, silly. You were drinking, and sad, and you told me last year. You made me promise, twelve pinky promises, Dragon One, twelve; that I’d never tell anyone. Then we shared blood with our knives to seal it.”

            Back at the patio one of the children hollered.

            “Look, look it’s giant fire flies!”

            The group looked up, and saw the lanterns floating along in the breeze. Rios immediately looked around to find Salem and Nala. When his reconnaissance came up empty he started for the lake, and the little animal trail Nala used to go fishing. As he cleared the end, and it opened up he halted. There, on the bank, sat Elliot and Nala shoulder to shoulder. Salem had his right arm around the small girl’s shoulders, and she had her left around his narrow waist with her backwards, patrol cap clad head resting on his right bicep. Their arms were intertwined, and their hands clasped. He decided not to disturb them. This was their moment, the moment Nala had worked, and planned so hard for. He looked out at the group of lanterns hovering in the darkness and smiled. It was, he knew form seeing such lanterns in China, an ephemeral sight.

            Some things though were not, and Tyson knew that although he was capable of terrible deeds, and decisions to achieve an end objective, here before him were the two finest achievements of his life, and their bond was anything but ephemeral. In front of him sat his best friend, his brother in blood and his, or should he say their daughter, and nothing or anyone would ever tear them from his heart. Turning he made his way back to the group, and took up a place with them watching the lanterns until the twinkled away and the sky was once again dark and capped merely by the stars.

            Before Rios could gather himself and halt his tears, Samantha’s father tugged at his elbow. Rios followed along, and sniffled a bit before facing the man.

            “Nice show, but would you mind telling me _exactly_ what you know about a certain kidnaping at Salem’s building this morning? My phone’s been blowing up all day, and now they want me on the case post haste!”

            Rios burst out in raucous barrel chested laughter, and Art stared at him stunned.

            “Let’s just say, Art, that is was a sort of abduction of loss. And leave it at that.”

 

 

 

           

           

           

           

 

           

           

 

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

                       

           

           

 

           

           

 

           

           

      


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